The Second Confesion

“I tell you that because you'd learn it anyhow.” He put a hand to the inside breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a bulky envelope. “These reports will tell you that much. They're from the Bascom Detective Agency. You know them?” “I know Mr Bascom.” Wolfe was still frowning. “I don't like ground that's been tramped over.” Sperling went right on by. “I had used them on business matters and found them competent, so I went to Bascom with this. I wanted information about a man named Rony, Louis Rony, and they've been at it a full month and they haven't got it, and I need it urgently. Yesterday I decided to call them off and try you. I've looked you up, and if you've earned your reputation “I should have come to you first.” He smiled like an angel, surprising me again, and convincing me that he would stand watching. “Apparently you have no equal.” Wolfe grunted, trying not to look pleased. “There was a man in Marseilles-but he's not available and he doesn't speak English, What information do you want about Mr Rony?” “I want proof that he's a Communist. If you get it and get it soon, your bill can be whatever you want to make it.” Wolfe shook his head. “I don't take jobs on those terms. You don't know he's a Communist, or you wouldn't be bidding so high for proof. If he isn't, I can't very well get evidence that he is. As for my bill being whatever I want to make it, my bills always are. But I charge for what I do, and I can do nothing that is excluded by circumstance. What I dig up is of necessity contingent on what has been buried, but the extent of my digging isn't, nor my fee.” “You talk too much,” Sperling said impatiently but not impolitely.

“Do I?” Wolfe cocked an eye at him. “Then you talk,” He nodded sidewise at me.